Unremembered
by Kataraang0
Summary: When Molly disappears, why does no one notice?
1. Brilliant

**Ch 1 – Brilliant**

"Hello."

"Hello."

He was smiling slightly. She shifted under his formulating gaze.

"It's good to see you."

"Yes, it's always good to see a familiar face after a traumatic, life-changing event."

"Actually, I meant you. It's good to see you."

Her eyes widened and she blushed, "I...uh..."

He embraced her suddenly, then pulled away just as quickly, his face one of ambiguity as he briskly walked away.

But he didn't walk entirely away.

He turned on his heel, almost reluctantly, and kissed her on the cheek, before turning once more and walking all the way away.

**Blogpost – Molly Hooper, 6/29/11, 1301h**

I had been having a fine day until _he _walked in. You know, _him_. That guy I'm always talking to you about who seems to not register my existence. Yeah, that guy.

_Sigh. _God, I hate that guy. But, I love him, too. Wait, did I really just type that? How do you delete it?

_Ugh! _Well, anyway. He came in and said he needed to look at a particular cut made with a frog sticker. (Meena, you were eating lunch with your boyfriend, otherwise you would have been there with me) I wasn't entirely sure what a frog sticker was, let alone what the cut would look like. Besides, I was fairly certain that no one had used one in at least a decade. He (well, I suppose I might as well just come out and say his name since I've already said it on a previous post) Sherlock sighed and slipped a knife out of his pocket.

"Can I have a male, about twenty four years old?"

His companion, John Watson, elbowed him in the ribs.

"Please?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, I got very clammy, as I always do around Sherlock Holmes. I hated myself for it, especially after the Moriarty fiasco. Aren't life-changing events supposed to change you? Shouldn't I be braver and more independent now? Hadn't I already stood up to this once before?

My hands shook as I flipped through my clipboard. I paused on the third page, where I knew John Doe (how fitting), age twenty three was. I cleared my throat, "John Doe." Mr Watson laughed and I felt a blush creep up my cheeks.

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock said as he attempted to move past me. I blocked his way.

"Y-you'll need paperwork."

There was a pause and Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards, in something akin to a smirk.

"Is that so?"

"Yes." I said, quiet but firm.

His smirk broadened, "All right, then."

My eyes widened slightly and I glanced at John Watson as Sherlock swished out of the morgue. The doctor shrugged and followed his executive out.

Dizziness overcame me and I groped for a surface to lean on. I had found the courage to stand up for myself. That much was becoming less and less surprising. The fact that Sherlock had accepted the change so readily is what startled me. What had that been about? What did he want? I shook my head and my breathing steadied as Sherlock swished back in, paperwork raised proudly above his head. I snatched the paper from him, more hurriedly than intended, leaving him to his work as I pushed the cadaver I had been working on into its respective freezer. I then busied myself as much as I could around my desk, rearranging and cataloguing medicines and tools that had already been rearranged and catalogued, looking over papers and computers documents that had already been edited (and some sent out), and doodling on my clipboard so as to seem that I was writing on it. If Sherlock had been paying attention, he would have noticed all of this, but he wasn't paying any attention. He didn't care.

Finally, he was done, which meant I could get back to work. John Watson left the room and I figured that Sherlock already had, since Mr Watson always follows him around. So, I was startled when I headed towards the trolley and Sherlock suddenly materialised in front of me.

"Hello."

"Hello."

He was smila;sdfkaj ;io;igna;NSV C

**So, I showed Sherlock to my friends and my buddy, Janie, was so cute! She got so into it! She would say stuff like, "Oh no! They're gonna die!" or "Oh my gosh! I'm so scared!" or "I **_**knew **_**that would happen!" Also, it was so cute because in the third episode, she saw Jim come in after Molly and she said, "Wait a second, isn't that Sherlock's girlfriend? I thought they liked each other." and after Molly leaves and Sherlock watches her leave, she said, "Aw. At least he cares."**


	2. Who?

**Ch2 – Who?**

The cab ride to the morgue felt exceptionally slow that morning. It didn't help that Sherlock was, quite inexplicably, feeling nauseous. He hoped he wasn't getting sick. Although, he supposed, it was a fortunate time to be sick, if he was to be sick at all, since he wasn't on a case.

Nothing in the world could have made him possibly even consider that his nausea might have been caused by a woman.

His hands twitched in his gloves.

Finally, the light the cab had been stopped at turned green and they finished the drive to St. Bart's.

Sherlock walked briskly through the large metal doors of Bart's morgue.

"Molly," he said not bothering to look up, "I'll need you to – "

"Excuse me, sir." His sentence was cut short. "I'll need you to show me your authorization."

Sherlock froze, one glove only half way off his hand. He then looked up sharply as he pulled his glove completely off with a snap. He opened his mouth, about to chide Molly about having such a rude friend, when he realised Molly wasn't in the room. A taller woman of Asian descent stared up at him through rectangular glasses, a knife in her hand resting just above a cadaver's bare chest.

"I don't have a Molly on my list, if you're looking for a deceased friend."

"Very funny." Sherlock stated, "Is Molly Hooper out today?"

"She might be. However, no Molly Hooper's work in this department. Try upstairs."

Sherlock arched his brow, not enjoying this joke in the least. However, he obliged the woman and went to speak to another acquaintance.

* * *

><p>"Mr Baskerville."<p>

The young man looked up quickly, accidentally jerking his patient's broken arm.

"Sorry." he said and winced as he continued to plaster the crying girl's limb. As soon as he finished, Matthew Baskerville turned to face the man behind him. Sherlock had waited _extremely _patiently, only barely able to do so with the aid of gritted teeth.

"Yes?" the younger man asked.

"Is Molly Hooper out today?"

"I'm sorry, who?"

"The woman from the morgue whom you like slightly more than a friend." Sherlock replied, "Is she out sick?"

"I don't know, sir." Matthew said, slowly and evenly, as if talking to a lunatic. "My associate, Meena, knows a Hooper family. Maybe she'll know who you're looking for."

Sherlock sighed and shoved past the unhelpful practitioner.

* * *

><p>"Meena, I presume?"<p>

The small woman nearly jumped out of her shoes and the mention of her name. She turned towards the voice. "Sir?"

"I was told that you know a Hooper family. I was wondering if you could tell me the location of a Miss Molly Hooper."

"I don't know a Molly Hooper, but I could give you Mr and Mrs Hooper's number and address."

Sherlock snatched the paper from her just as she finished, almost making her smudge the street name. He left without saying another word.

How exceedingly peculiar.


	3. Preliminary Investigation

Sherlock waited for John to return to the flat. If his deductions were correct, and they usually were, he didn't have long to wait.

John had gone to work, as he usually did during the day, and sent Sherlock a text saying he was going to Sarah's afterwards. He had been there most of the day and Sherlock knew that unless it was Friday, John would be back in half an hour.

Sherlock sighed and tapped the paper Meena had given him, which, in turn, made him tap the coffee table with a satisfactory thunk.

Sherlock opened John's laptop, typed in the new password (2 minutes, 42 seconds), and, while waiting for the computer to start, pricked his ears up at the sound of the door.

"Oh, hello, Sherl-"

"I need you to go to this address and ask about Molly Hooper."

"Who?" If Sherlock had glanced even for a moment at John, he would have noticed the pallor of his face. Holmes turned to his colleague almost a moment after his paleness had faded enough to not be noticeable.

"Molly. Hooper. She works in the morgue."

Seeing the blank expression on John's visage, Sherlock continued, "You often say that I'm rude to her. Are you feeling alright?"

John's features remained expressionless as he nodded.

"Just go to this address."

John was now out of the house and the computer was finally on.

And so, Sherlock checked his second most reliable resource (other than his own mind, of course) the world wide web.

He typed into the search bar: Molly Elizabeth Hooper, in the hopes of finding her cell phone number or e-mail address.

Sherlock couldn't find anything. He found a few other Molly Hoopers, but they didn't have the same middle name or they didn't look anything like the Molly Sherlock knew. Sherlock found a couple that looked like they could have been Molly's parents. He saved the image to ask John about later.

After continuing his search for at least an hour, Sherlock came up with nothing. Absolutely nothing. He couldn't even find the blog that Molly's friends had spoken about in his perceptive earshot.

She did not exist.

Sherlock looked around the flat for a moment, bewildered at the circumstance.

His eyes alighted on a pencil. He stood to find a paper in the clutter of the kitchen counter

He found one underneath his crucible and twenty-two millilitre beaker. Immediately, Sherlock shoved his chemistry equipment aside and began to draw. He, quite successfully, incorporated the stains into the drawing's features, the pink one as the blush of her cheeks, the brown as a streak of her hair. Every time he felt as if a line didn't look true to real life, he would redraw it, but it would end up looking less like Molly. Of course, without her there, it was hard to tell. She was an exceptionally normal person, and Sherlock felt the more he drew, the longer it took, the less he remembered about her. Sherlock forced himself to pause. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the shy, petite mortician. Her hair was parted to the right (her right). She had relatively thin lips, though they honestly didn't look that bad without lipstick. She had a small, pointed nose, like a Disney princess (thanks to some accidental image finding on Google), round cheeks and a small chin. Her eyes were large and brown, with medium length eyelashes and thin eyebrows above them.

Sherlock smiled and opened his eyes. With all this in mind, he completed his illustration, still wishing he could have depicted her better, but thanking goodness that he remembered her.

He frowned soon enough, placed the paper on the coffee table, and dialed Lestrade on his iPhone.

"Lestrade? I need you to start up a search party. One of my...friends is missing." Sherlock listened to the response, "Hold on, I'll give you her address."

Sherlock put his phone against his shoulder and dashed around the room, rummaging through papers, trying to remember if Molly had ever given him her address or if he had written it anywhere. He couldn't find anything.

Sherlock heard Lestrade say something rather loud from his phone and brought it back up to his ear, "What?...Wait, hold on. I've almost got it."

Sherlock closed his eyes again, searching the folders and file cabinets of his mind, forgetting to take the phone away from his ear.

"Sherlock?"

"Shut up! I need to think!"

It was quiet for a moment, then Sherlock located a file marked Hooper.

"Here. I found it."

**Hooray! Be happy for me! What with moving back into the U.S. of A. and getting situated into a completely new community, I finally had time to post this for you. You're welcome.**


End file.
